How Shall The Murdered Man Convince His

God, How Pointless And Empty The World Is! Days Filled With Cheap And Tarnished Moments Succeed Each Other, Restless And Haunted Nights Follow In Bitter Routine: The Sun Shines Without Brightness, And The Moon Rises Without Light. My Heart Has The Taste Of Ashes, And My Throat Is Tight And Weary With Weeping. What Is A Lost Soul? It Is One That Has Turned From Its True Path And Is Groping In The Darkness Of Remembered Ways—

The Movements Of Some More Little Red Birds In The Garden, Like Animated Rosebuds, Appeared Unbearably Jittery And Thievish. It Was As Though The Creatures Were Attached By Sensitive Wires To His Nerves.

What Is Man But A Little Soul Holding Up A Corpse?

How Shall The Murdered Man Convince His Assassin He Will Not Haunt Him.

How, Unless You Drink As I Do, Could You Hope To Understand The Beauty Of An Old Indian Woman Playing Dominoes With A Chicken?